


Charmed

by SapphyreLily



Series: MatsuOi Week 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anastasia AU, M/M, MatsuOiWeek 2017, Royalty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: MatsuOi Week Day 2 - Royalty AUHe's just someone searching for his family - there's no way he could be a long-lost prince.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on Anastasia because I really really love that movie. I mixed modern and traditional things in here, so it's really messy, oops.

“Me? A prince?”

A whisper of a memory, of suits and twirling ball gowns.

“Impossible.”

A bow, a curtsey, the smooth touch of another’s hand.

“Not impossible. Look at the likeness!” A porcelain hand, sweeping across the painting's visage. “You look just like him.”

He scoffs. “Like I could ever be the prince. I’m an _orphan_.”

“So is he.”

A jovial arm thrown around his shoulders, a cheery voice in his ear. “Whyever not, though? There are so many overlaps, you could be the prince but never knew!”

“I doubt it.”

“Ah, come on, man. Give it a go. Maybe you’ll learn something, even if you aren’t the prince. What do you have to lose?”

A crescendo, a dip, and the music flutters away. He is alone.

“I’ll come with you.”

\-----

He relearns their names – Takahiro is the friendly one, Tooru is the one with pretty hands. They have jobs, they know things, and him?

He’s just Sei. Just an orphan, with no name, no home, no past and no future.

They are to take him to Paris, so he can learn if he is the lost prince of Seijou, so he can see if he really has family there.

He fingers the worn charms on his wrist, tracing their smooth edges before letting go.

There’s no way he’s actually Prince Issei.

\-----

“I have to do _what_?”

Tooru flaps a hand, waving his concerns away. “They’re just facts, some small details.”

“You’re asking me to relearn a whole life!”

“Now, now. They could be _your_ life facts. You’re the lost prince, remember?”

“Says you.”

A firm arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, a daisy offered in the palm of a hand. “Don’t mind him. He worries.”

“If I was really the prince, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about, would there?”

A non-committal hum, a clap on his shoulder. “Maybe. But His Imperial Highness wouldn’t be able to recognise you straight away, so you need some proof. Besides, you get to learn all these cool things about your life.”

There’s a sudden presence at his shoulder, like a jack-in-the-box. “Ready to become Prince Issei?”

He sighs and throws the daisy in his face, walking away.

He hears their hushed voices, the disapproving reprimand, and then there’s a hand on his elbow, leading and coaxing him, lesson number one whispered in his ear.

He loses his breath – what an amazing fact – and turns to him, disbelieving.

Takahiro grins, and offers lesson number two.

He repeats it back, and lesson three is chirped in his ear, fluttering away when he turns to toss the twig left tucked behind his ear at the culprit.

Tooru dodges the twig and laughs, ushering them along as they throw facts back and forth, rebuilding a life forgotten.

\-----

They are on the last leg of their trip, dancing with glee every time he remembers a correct fact. A new yukata is pressed into his hands – a deep green, vibrant and fresh, gilded with silver thread – and he goes to change.

When he re-emerges, Takahiro offers him a grin and a thumbs up, but turning, he sees Tooru, slack-jawed.

The brunet stutters when greeted, but does not protest too much when shoved into his arms, looking up with an almost shy smile and asking if he’d like to dance.

He doesn’t know how to, and traditional dances are too complicated, so Tooru leads him in a waltz, stepping back and forth over the swaying floor. He feels like his brain has been left behind with how light-headed he is, though he has long since been accustomed to the swell of the sea.

They are close, too close, and the thin material of the yukata does nothing to hide the frantic thump of his heart. He isn’t that much taller than Tooru, but he feels infinitely small, drowning in the depths of his eyes.

One beat, two beats, and he can feel the puff of his breath across his lips. His eyelids flutter shut, but he hears a soft exhale, and then the warmth leaves him, hands withdrawing.

“Your steps are perfect,” is all he hears before he opens his eyes to see Tooru's retreating back, and he is left reaching out towards nothing.

\-----

They are meeting with a distant cousin of the old Emperor, because no one goes to the Emperor before they meet him.

The man is as young as he, and looks almost like Sei himself – dark curly hair, thick brows, hooded eyes that hold a sea of emotion.

He welcomes them politely, and Takahiro greets him like an old friend – he sees the smile on the man’s face, and he knows that maybe, they share something more.

They are invited in, and just as tea is served, Keiji stands and walks around him, eyes appraising, quietly, curiously critical. “He does _look_ like Issei… But how well do you remember your facts?”

He exhales long and deep, but squares his shoulders.

He has prepared for this.

\-----

“This may be a trivial question to you but…if I may ask, how did you escape the palace?”

He dips his head, the softness of the question stirring emotion in him, flashes of memories rising to the surface.

He can hear Takahiro and Tooru shifting in the background, but tunes them out, focusing on the wisps of memory floating by.

“There was…a boy. He opened a door in the wall, and the passage was so, so dark…” He cuts himself off with a laugh, smiling sheepishly at Keiji. “Sorry, that sounds absurd. Walls don’t have doors.”

Keiji just offers a small smile, reaching forward to pick up the tea set. “Well, that’s all done then.”

“He’s done? He’s passed?” Takahiro is barely in his seat, his voice effervescent with excitement. Keiji lifts the tray and makes off with it, his smile just a smidgen wider.

“You did it!”

He is yanked from his seat, stumbles into Takahiro’s gleeful embrace. He barely catches sight of Tooru, his posture contemplative, before he is whisked around, nearly knocking a vase over.

“So when can we see the old Emperor?”

“Unfortunately, His Imperial Highness refuses to take any more visitors.” Keiji pauses at the door, expression unreadable, and Takahiro immediately marches over, voice quietly pleading.

He is left behind, head spinning.

_I came all the way here… For nothing?_

He can barely make out their arguing voices, but he has never heard Takahiro beg, and it makes uneasiness sprout in him.

“Keiji, please, there must be a way–”

“His Highness has specifically said no more visitors.”

“But surely, there must be a way, a chance meeting–”

“Oh!” His eyes lift at the exclamation, meet Keiji’s with difficulty – but the man is nonplussed, his expression coy.

“Issei, how well do you like _kabuki_?”

\-----

They are lucky – there is a play coming up, and Keiji could arrange for an ‘accidental’ meeting between acts.

He is nervous, hopelessly so, but he plays along, taking the few days to their meeting to worry in private.

Keiji is a perfect host, taking them shopping, showing them the sights, and he tries to lose himself in it, but it is hard.

They are at the top of the Eiffel Tower when he feels a light hand on his shoulder, looks over to see fluffy brown hair taking its place next to him. “So. Paris.”

He turns to lean against the railing, eyes raking the glittering city. “Paris.”

“Isn’t it funny, that this is the City of Love?”

“Why?”

“The people are rather…uncouth, for the lack of better words.” Tooru taps his temple with a finger, a little smile quirking his lips. “But maybe it does have some significance.”

“Oh yeah?”

“There are many forms of love, don’t you think? Not just romance, which is what Paris is famed for.” Tooru looks up at him, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, and he wants to push it away. “There’s friendship, brotherly love, familial care… And that’s the one that’s important, especially when we meet His Imperial Highness tomorrow.”

He clenches and unclenches his fists. _Tomorrow._ So far, yet so near.

A light hand is placed over his, cool fingers encompassing, enclosing. “It’ll be alright. You’re brilliant, and the Emperor will recognise you.”

He exhales shakily and opens his hand, only for his fingers to slot neatly with Tooru’s. He starts to pull away, but the other man squeezes lightly, reassuringly, and he relaxes next to him.

He loses himself in the gentle melody of Tooru’s voice, and for a night, he is suitably distracted from his panicked thoughts.

\-----

Tomorrow is too far, and too near.

Tomorrow is here.

They are quiet when they get to the theatre, and he is so nervous, so distracted, so preoccupied; he misses the opening sequence, misses the plot, misses the way the crowd is transfixed by the play.

When the first act is over, he is tugged from his seat, and it doesn’t occur to him where they are until a pair of hands clap firmly on his shoulders.

Tooru looks him in the eye, face set with a tight smile. He can see it the moment their eyes meet – how he visibly relaxes – and offers a shaky smile of his own.

“Don’t worry,” Tooru smiles, and brushes imaginary lint off his shoulder. “It will be fine.”

He steps away, towards the little alcove where the old Emperor sits.  Just before he pushes the curtain aside, he looks over his shoulder and winks.

“You look dashing.”

And then he’s gone.

\-----

He paces back and forth, but when he hears voices, he can’t help but stop to listen.

_“–just look at him–”_

_“Don’t try to fool me. I know you. The conman, holding auditions for Prince Issei, trying to pass someone off as my grandson. No. I will not have it.”_

_“But he_ is _the prince! Please, Your Majesty, if you’ll just look–”_

_“Guards, escort him out.”_

The curtain is shoved aside, a body thrown at his feet. Tooru looks up at him, but he is lost, blinded by a film of rage.

“You lied to me.”

He flings him off when he tries to explain, his words bouncing off him. He is in his own world, and no plea can reach through his fury.

He leaves the venue, and starts the long walk back to their lodgings.

He can hardly think but for the hurt tearing through him, the breach of trust, the broken promises. But he walks on, shedding a fond memory with every step forward.

\-----

He is almost done packing when the door creaks open, and he turns, ready to yell at Tooru, because who else would come after him?

But his words fall dead when he sees the person, and his knees buckle, his head dropping to the ground in _dogeza_.

“Rise.”

He sits back on his heels, eyes lowered, because you should never, _ever,_ look royalty in the eye. Even he knows that.

“Look at me.”

Except when they tell you to.

(He thinks so, he isn’t sure.)

He meets a pair of weathered brown eyes, resisting his urge to look away. The old man seems to glare at him, looking him up and down, before sighing heavily. “Make your stand, boy. I do not have the time, nor the heart for this.”

He gulps, but his mouth remains dry, his nerves frazzled. “I don’t have an argument, Your Highness. I just hoped that maybe, you could tell me if I was part of a family. Your family.”

The old Emperor raises his brows. “You’re a good actor. Tooru trained you well.”

“He didn’t have to train me in how to feel,” he replies, irked. “When you’re alone, lost with no memory, all you yearn for is a family, for someone who knows you as you are, someone to accept you and love you.”

“Hmm. Pretty words, with no backing.”

“None that would convince you, Highness. For I do not know myself.”

The man opens his mouth, but closes it, eyes lowered, gaze intense. He follows his gaze to his hands, where he was fiddling with his worn charms again.

“May I?”

He scrambles to stand, to undo the knot – and succeeds, after several agonising moments. He drops the bracelet into his weathered palm, and watches.

The old man turns the charms over slowly, gently, and his voice is hoarse with astonishment. “Where did you get this?”

“It was found with me, when I was wandering the streets.” He rubs at the skin on his wrist for the lack of something better to do. “I had to change the cord as I grew up and it got too small, but every charm is still there.”

The old Emperor looks up at him, eyes glimmering with the thinnest film of tears. “My boy… These are the markers we used within the palace to identify the royal and noble children. Each charm speaks of their house and their lineage, and a symbol of the child’s name.

“And this one… This belongs to Issei.”

\-----

Tooru prostrates himself, only moving when he hears the command.

The old Emperor has an open briefcase on his table, nodding at it as he approaches. “The reward money, as promised.”

Tooru bows again, as deep as he can muster, but when he rises, he says, “No.”

The old man looks at him with raised eyebrows, so he continues. “Thank you very much, Your Highness, but I cannot accept.”

“No?” He shuts the briefcase, eying him curiously. “What is it you want, then? Power? Fame?”

“…what I want is not something that you can grant me.” He thinks of hidden smiles, a deep laugh, snark hidden under a bored façade.

There is silence, until the old Emperor says, “Ah. You are attracted to him.”

He hears him sit, hears the sigh. “Well, it is not an uncommon practice, except you are both beyond the age where it is normal. Do what you will. I do not control his affections.”

He bows sharply. “I will take my leave.”

\-----

He peeks from behind the curtain, sees the sea of people. Glittering ball gowns and sleek suits intermingle, stepping in time with the swell of music.

He drops the curtain and takes a deep breath.

“Why do you hesitate?”

He turns back to see his grandfather, smiles and shrugs. “It’s weird.”

“Maybe so. But they are your people, and they have been waiting for you.” The old man steps up to him, peers into his face. “Who is on your mind?”

He shakes off the image of chocolate brown hair, dancing eyes and teasing words. “No one.”

“No?” There is a lilt of mischievousness in his tone, and he has to look. “Seems to me like a certain thought is plaguing you.”

“No, I–” He sighs. “I’m just wondering what that asshole Tooru is doing with his reward money. Swimming in it, maybe.”

His grandfather chuckles, knocking his arm with his walking stick. “A fine imagination you have. Put it away, and let us go greet your subjects.”

When he does not move, a harder rap is given on his elbow, and a long-suffering sigh. “He didn’t take the money.”

“He– What?”

“There are other things worth living for,” he tells him. “Or so I hear.”

He makes a move towards the curtain, but before he ducks through it, he tells him, “Live your life the way you see fit. You are young.”

“But– We just found each other–”

“You know where I am, if you want to find me,” he says, not unkindly. “But my time on this earth is short, and yours is just beginning. Decide what is best for you.”

He sweeps through the curtain, leaving him standing, worrying at his lip, contemplating.

\-----

A light hand on one shoulder, free fingers intertwined. A breeze ruffling their hair, mussing up carefully combed locks, secluding them in their own little bubble.

Brown eyes meet blue, a secret smile shared, foreheads knocking together.

A puff of white breath, a tongue darting out – a spark.

Leaning in, pressing skin on skin, mouths moulding together.

_Finally._

A shared promise – this time with no secrets, no crossed fingers. An exchange of pure intent, sealed with a light heart.

Above them, the moon rises, illuminating their little ferry out of Paris, into the great unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the weird ending? I kind of died halfway through.


End file.
